


A Man Of Interest

by Arcanist



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, HE NEEDS DICK!!!!, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, george is such a fucking thirsty bottom why is this show so STRAIGHT, im so drun k on whisky please help me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23254156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcanist/pseuds/Arcanist
Summary: George meets a keen mind at a party. He seems to know what he needs in life.
Relationships: George Warleggan/Original Male Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	A Man Of Interest

George Warleggan was making his way in society. It was plain to see. He had a high born wife. A beautiful estate. A position in justive. Perfect tailoring. The turn of the leg. All the marks of the exquisite gentleman that he was. Yet, wider noble society seemed to remain closed to him despite the fact that he had worked himself to be their equal, moreso than equal, their superior. It pained him to simper around them, when he knew on what unstable ground their ventures stood, when he knew how much brighter, how much smarter and more cunning he was. After all, he had to be at least four times as cunning as any little lord to have even amounted a percentile of what he had. Yet, he had to persist, he had to carry on, on his knees, until he was on top. And he would be, he knew he would be.

The night was young, though dark, with the room dimly lit by candles. His wife was.. Somewhere, as she was wont to be. Helping their position he assumed, as she should want to. He had given her some targets for the night, perhaps for once she should make duty and follow through with them. Meanwhile, he had a catch in his sights. It was rare that the truly big fish managed to languish in the ponds that he frequented, but tonight the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire had deigned to send their current charge to this ball. Perhaps they were sick of him, but George saw ample opportunity in a well-bred French Marquis, even if he was in exile. Perhaps exactly because he was in exile, his funds may be frozen but his connections were more than excellent, and moreover, the man seemed to be well-liked. As he hovered around the socializing groups, he overheard multiple offers of dancing, all declined. A very eligible bachelor too, once the war was over, with a massive estate and a keen sense for wine and the business within. Allegedly also a former professor at some Parisian university. A very well-bred man, with some semblance of intellingence.

How rare. Cunning too, perhaps, George had not said a word, before he noticed the man himself staring at him. He was tall, with fashions that perfectly framed his athletic body and finely balanced head resting upon an expertly tied cravat. His hair was dark and thick, and he had styled himself an impecably kept moustache any man would be the envy of, which rested above a casual smile of a fine mouth. George felt himself almost entirely alone, as the blue eyes of the Marquis cut through the crowds and pierce him to the spot. He felt a surge of excitement in his chest. Recognition. This man was seeing something in him.

Well, good riddance that one of these fools should recognize him for his cunning and ability at a glance! Perhaps the marquis had also noticed how fine his legs were looking in his breeches, cut to accentuate his thighs most agreeably. The marquis tilted his head back in a cocky gesture and beckoned him over in such a small move. Of course, George could do nothing but obey, as the modes of politeness dictated, of course. What a shame his wife was not here also, she would have complemented him so excellently in this introduction. 

They were just the two of them, George realized a bit hazily. Perhaps in his sipping of the port, as to not appear too occupied with observing the guests and eavesdropping their conversations, he had not realized how the marquis had dismissed his little congregation and was standing with am admiral's rigidity observing him in turn. He sipped his port languidly as George approached and bowed lightly. George bowed. Deep. The difference in status, of course, but yet he found his mouth dry, as if were also his place to wait to be spoken to before speaking. This seemed to amuse the marquis, whose smile turned crooked before he spoke, in unaccented English,

"M. Warleggan, is it not? You seem to have taken an interest in me. I apologize for my lack of introduction, but it seems that my reputation does precede me." His voice was smooth, low, with an effortless grace that one should perhaps file away to emulate. What an arrogant remark, but he was not wrong, after all, he knew who he was.

"Indeed, Marquis, I have heard of your great accomplishments in Paris."

"Oh?" A grin spread across his face. Predatory in shape. "Are you familiar with my reputation as an anatomist? I must admit, I am impressed, the English seem so shy to talk of it."

"Of course." A lie. So this man was an anatomist. A dissector of human corpses, and a surgeon too. The grin made sense now, it was the grin of a man adept with a knife. George swallowed. His gaze was unyielding.

"This is hardly the place to talk of such gruesome matters, do you not agree?" He laughed low. "But you are a man who does not care for such boundaries of convention I seem to sense. Come, let's step aside for a while. Then, we can talk as men."

His voice left no room for objection. It was thrilling, in a sense, the severity hiding beneath such a friendly tone, as the man rested a hand on his back, leading him without complaint into the side room. It must have been the port, for George felt quite hazy, quite out of sorts as that hand seemed to burn into his back, with some strength hiding beneath it. He imagined it holding a long knife of the post-mortem, piercing through his tailored armour and straight through his spine into his heart. It made the hair raise on the back of his neck.

"As men, indeed," he supplied, trying not to notice how quiet how own voice had become. Thankfully, the little study of a side room was empty. The marquis clapped him on the shoulder, turning him to face him. His more amicable expression gave way to a more serious one. He took a step closer, and George found himself instinctively maintaining polite distance by backing slightly away.

"Your ambition is admirable. I find it interesting. I find the English nobles so boring, so very content to live their little lives without fighting for their position. It is good to see them a little uneasy."

The compliment warmed his stomach.

"Why thank you, Marquis."

"Hm, yes, but you should learn to be more.." He came closer still, backing George against the bookshelf with little grace. It seemed to amuse him, for his expression grew light again, and he traced the knot of his cravat. "Subtle."

George's brows furrowed. He was at a loss for words at this insult. He was cunning, he was subtle, why else would he have made it this far-! Yet, the words found no way out, except as an intelligble sputter.

"Ah, you are so very thirsty, M. Warleggan, I should take pity on your poor soul." There was no distance to close, instead he pressed him against the bookshelf, holding him close in a way that was far from proper and sent a nervous stutter into George's voice,

"S-sir, I must object I am not-!"

"Quiet now, your, ah." He could not help, it seemed, but laugh, George felt the indignant heat rise to his face. "Your anatomy betrays you."

His voice was low in tone, almost growling, as he pressed his thigh against him and a sharp whimper came unbidden. Betrayed indeed. The marquis watched his expression with a hunger he could not decipher, but it made the horrible heat gather in his stomach and his heart jump as the man undid his knot, sliding his palm against his throat. It felt almost hot against it, and his breath jumped as if reacting to a burn.

"Good man." His words, whispered close to his ear, sent a thrill down his spine, and he swallowed nervously, wetting his lips. The hand around his throat tightened slightly, threatening to cut off his air, yet George found himself in some inexplicable sense of mute excitement, watching this foreigner, this anatomist with wide eyes, while the man simply looked back at him with intense interest.

"Longed for this, haven't you?" he mused low, as a hand wrapped itself around George's hair, pulling at it first experimentally and then painfully. "For someone to put you in your place."

George swallowed again. The heat was gathering in his stomach, yet he also felt intense protestations rise.

"Marquis-! I can't-! You-! Hn-!" His protestations were silenced by another pull of the hair, it seemed to leave him breathless.

"Ssh, now, M. Warleggan, you should put your mouth to better use." George looked at him in confusion, dispelled as he felt the hardness of the Marquis pressing against his thigh as the man leaned close against him.

"Put your mouth to better use," he muttered in his ear, before stepping back, allowing him space to sink down to his knees. What he was doing, he was not sure, but it felt right, it felt correct, and as he sank to his knees he came face to face with the Marquis' erection, he realized that he was deeply, irrevocably aroused. The tug at his hair beckoned him to press his submission onto the head, and he was duly rewarded. The low hiss of breath, of arousal, in the voice of the Marquis sent a thrill down his stomach and into the strain in his trousers, which he stimulated hazily as he dutifully took the tribute before him in his mouth. Thick and heavy, the musk of manhood sent his head spinning, and he found himself driving himself deeper, harder, driven by that encouraging pull on his air and his reward of that slight loss in the Marquis' so finely crafted composure.

It was simple at first. A mouthing, a kissing gesture to his erection, working off of instinct with some hesitation, but hazy desire drove him further, indulging his mouth as far as it went, delighting in how the Marquis buckled against him, and how he took him until he could not anymore. Bobbing his head back and forth, drooling quite heavily at the exertions of his mouth, while groaning low as he worked his own arousal in the meanwhile. He could feel himself growing close, whimpering and groaning around the organ in his mouth, some part of it thankful for gagging him, lest they should alert the party just in the next room over. At the same time, there was something terrible exciting about the risk.

A groan of exertion, and suddenly he was pulled from his work, and shoved hard against the bookshelf. He whimpered loudly as the Marquis mouthed at his neck hard, he felt his teeth against his skin and clutched at the man's head in ecstacy. His hand came up to cover his mouth, as the man once again reminded him to be silent, and he felt chastised like a schoolboy, though no less excited, fruitlessly grinding against the man as they were pressed together. With some lack of security in his hands, apparently the marquis was also quite affected by their exertions, was the vague thought, his braces were unbuttoned and his trousers pulled down, and before quite realizing it, he was bracing himself agains the bookshelf with his back to the Marquis, while a cold and somehow slick hand caressed his ass. He whimpered against he hand on his mouth, instinctively pressing his ass against the hand, which slipped between it's points to some end that was both arousing, yet deeply confusing. 

His confusion did not last long. The hand around his mouth proved itself once more useful, as he felt the insertion of fingers into his anus. Painful and odd, but in his aroused state he found it only exacerbated his condition, even moreso when the man crooked the fingers and sent a bolt of pleasure up his spine which left him whimpering helplessly into the hand. The Marquis muttered something into his ear, but George hardly heard it, so he simply responding by grinding helplessly against the fingers inside him. A whole new from of pleasure, sending his calves shivering gently. A biting kiss sent him shaking again, and with little preamble, the fingers were replaced with that erection he had just missed the presence of.

The pleasure mounted, as he felt himself stretch out to contain it wholly, far better than simply taking it in his mouth, and touching upon that point which the fingers had also. He by instinct rocked back against it, which earned him a lovely low moan, cut short as the marquis sunk his teeth into his neck again to quiet himself. The gentleman seemed to be losing his composure once and for all, thrusting first into him with care and a deliberate slowness, which made him whine and ache against him, but this did not last for long, as his feral mind seemed to overtake him and he took George against the bookshelf fast and hard.

A handkerchief was helpfully wrapped around his own erection. He buckled into it, thrusting with fervour he could hardly recognize in himself, as he came against the bookshelf with the Marquis' teeth in his neck. He shuddered and slumped against it, breathing heavily as he tried to remain upright. The Marquis let go of his mouth and muttered encouragement as he gently wiped remaining excesses off with his handkerchief, and pulled his trousers back up, securing them in the braces and buttoning the front flap. He turned him around to face him again.

"Well done, M. Warleggan." He spoke with a lack of breath and stroked his cheek fondly. "Come now, I shall help tie that for you."

George simply looked at him in quiet reverence, as the Marquis primly tied his cravat, covering all their excesses. He wondered, hazily, what Elizabeth might think of those marks undoubtedly on his neck. Like she'd know, hah.


End file.
